


An Alliance is Like a Chain

by hufflepirate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, F/M, Isaac has been aged down, Political Alliances, War, eventual wolf-politics drama, human alpha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepirate/pseuds/hufflepirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Eleanor has always known that when she was 13, she'd be bonded to a member of the Hale pack as part of the alliance between them.  She's always known she would have a wolf as her bodyguard, confidant, and (hopefully) best friend, just like her sister Lydia has Erica.  But now that the time has finally come, the pack is at war with another group of wolves, and things are changing underfoot.  When the pack has to send Isaac Lahey as a replacement bondwolf, it's only the first of the surprises the war will bring for both of them.</p><p>(Tags will be added as things develop - I know where this is going, but other than the fact that Eleanor/Isaac is the most predictable part of the endgame, I don't want to spoil it.  Current tags only cover what has happened so far, and characters will only be tagged once they've played a significant part in the story.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Alliance is Like a Chain

**Author's Note:**

> *Title from a quote by Walter Lippmann
> 
> Warning: This will probably update very, very slowly. I don't really have time to write it, but the plot bunny bit so hard that I couldn't resist starting anyway. If that bothers you, you might want to wait and read it when it's done, or just pass it by. I understand. Slow updates can be really frustrating. I'd apologize, but I want to be writing this badly enough to keep writing it even when I know I don't really have the time, and I'm not sure I'm actually sorry for that.
> 
> Other notes: This isn't betaed, so drop me a line in the comments if anything is unclear. I hope you enjoy it!

Princess Eleanor sprawled melodramatically across her bed, scowling.  She wasn't  _supposed_  to have a boy wolf.  That wasn't how this  _worked_.  She was supposed to have a  _girl_  wolf, and they were supposed to be best friends and do each other's hair and wear gorgeous dresses and laugh at the boys when they stared, just like Lydia did with Erica.  They were supposed to be beautiful and tough and make everyone fawn over them and talk about all the boys they could have if they just decided they wanted them.  Her bond wolf was supposed to be her best friend and her closest confidant and now it was going to be a  _boy_  and it wouldn't be the  _same_.  Reaching for her pillow, she used it to muffle a scream of frustration.  
  
She'd been so excited, as she got closer to her 13th birthday, to finally meet her bondwolf.  They'd worried a little, because they'd all heard the pack was having some difficulties - Erica had even had to go off and help them for a few days and she  _never_  left Lydia - but they hadn't expected something like this.  Stiles Stilinski, son of the captain of the guard and liaison to the werewolf clan, had come riding into the castle courtyard this morning with the terrible news that the last remaining werewolf girl of the right age, Cora, had been killed in battle.  The wolves were sending a replacement bondwolf for the ceremony, and with the war they had going on, she was sure it wouldn't be a strong replacement.  And, more pressingly, it would be a  _boy_.  She didn't  _want_  a boy.  And bondwolves came for  _life_.  
  
She was about to scream into the pillow again for good measure when there was a knock on the door.  "Hey, Princess," she heard from outside, "Let me in, eh?"    
  
She wrinkled her nose.  "Go  _away_ , Stiles!"  
  
"Nope," he said cheerfully, "Father's been on me to do my job lately, and I'm pretty sure you still need liaising over the whole new-bondwolf thing.  I haven't even told you anything about him yet!"  
  
She was kind of mad at him for this morning's news, but he was still  _Stiles_ , perpetual screwup, faithful knight, and the best not-a-real-brother around; she knew he'd talk her in to opening the door soon enough anyway.  And besides, it wasn't  _really_  his fault that the pack was at war or the bondwolf she was supposed to have been meeting today had died in it.  She groaned, not bothering to muffle it with the pillow this time.    
  
"Atta girl!" he said cheerfully, hearing something in her voice she hadn't meant to put there, or maybe just  _assuming_  she was getting up to answer the door because he  _wanted_  her to be.  
  
When she opened the door, Stiles bowed to her, a proper low bow instead of his usual half-bob that made the steward grit his teeth and mutter about lack of respect.  "Milady."  She couldn't help the weak half-smile that pushed its way across her lips.  Stiles only bowed like this when he knew she was particularly upset.  He didn't take very much seriously, but when she was sad or angry or hurt, he always treated it like it was the single most serious and important thing that had ever happened in the castle.  
  
"Sir Stiles," she replied, holding her hand out properly, like she'd learned to before her first ball last year.  Stiles had kissed her hand then, too, but they'd been in public, so she'd had to use his awful real name, instead of his usual nickname with the title tacked onto it.  
  
Stiles kissed the back of her hand, then stepped forward to pull her into a hug.  She hugged him back, resting her head against the cool, hard metal of his chainmailed shoulder.  It wasn't particularly comfortable, but she was used to it, because Stiles had been a knight for a long time now.  Stiles was 20, a year older than Lydia and Erica and seven and a half years older than Eleanor, and he'd been a knight (or at least in training to become one) since he was 13.    
  
He was also the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had and on the rare occasions that she thought about it, she inevitably realized that she was closer to Stiles than she was to Lydia, her actual sister.  Stiles had never been very good at sitting still or being quiet at court functions, so he'd been in charge of keeping Eleanor entertained at them since before she could remember.  Legend had it that when he was 9 and she was only a year and a half old, her nurse had had to take her out of a banquet because she was crying and wouldn't stop, and Stiles's dad had had to kick him out of the banquet hall because he wouldn't sit still, and he'd found her and Nurse in the hall and played peekaboo until Eleanor laughed instead of crying.  She didn't remember it, but it sounded about right.  
  
She  _did_  remember Stiles making faces at her from his seat beside the Captain when she was bored at banquets, showing her secret passageways she could use to hide from Governess when she didn't want to do her sewing, and finding her when Lydia had been particularly mean so that he could cheer her up.  
  
She also remembered all the times he'd taken care of her when she had her "spells," which Nanny had called "getting the devil in her" and Governess called "catching the storm."  (Nurse had left before she had her first spell, so she didn't know what  _she_  would have called them.)  Stiles called them "having one of those days," which wasn't so bad.    
  
She remembered feeling like she was going to explode if she couldn't run or scream or cry or get the feeling out, and she remembered him putting her on his horse and riding out of the castle with her and letting her shout until she felt better.  She remembered him asking her for a dance at balls when she got a little too wild to control herself, and waltzing her straight out the door before anybody noticed so that she could calm down in the garden.  She remembered him handing her a staff when she was 8 years old and teaching her to fight with it even though princesses weren't supposed to, because he knew hitting away at him would help her get the feelings out.  
  
She kind of wanted to hit him  _now_ , but neither of them had a staff, and he had been nice and come to check on her, so she shouldn't.  She gave him an extra hard squeeze instead.  Then she let go and he reached out and ruffled her hair.  She yelped, swatting his hand away and taking a step back, "Stiles, stop!  I have to look good for the ceremony this afternoon!"  
  
Stiles smirked, "I thought you didn't  _want_  a boy werewolf."  
  
Eleanor glared at him, folding her arms across her chest. "I  _don't_."  
  
Stiles grinned, "But you want to look pretty when he gets here?"  
  
She sniffed, offended.  "No.  I want to look pretty when I have to stand in front of the  _court_."  
  
Stiles reached toward her again and she raised her arms to defend herself, "Relax, Sunshine," he said with a sigh, "I'm just fixing your hair.  Not that you deserve to have your hair fixed when you won't even give poor Isaac a chance..."  
  
She refused to take the bait.  Just because she was letting Stiles smooth her hair down didn't mean she was just going to get over the fact that she was  _supposed_  to have a  _girl_  wolf.  
  
Even so -  _Isaac_.  She hadn't heard his name before, and she wasn't sure what kind of person it made her think of.  She wanted to test the name out, see what it felt like on her tongue, but she couldn't without Stiles thinking she was softening up to the idea.  And she wasn't.  Asking about the boy was like ceding victory, and Eleanor didn't give up easily.  
  
Stiles chuckled, moving past her to poke through the small collection of jewelry on her vanity table.  He was hopeless with dresses, but he had a good eye for jewelry, something he'd cultivated specifically to impress Lydia, though it never seemed to work.  "Fine.  Don't ask.  You're about to be stuck with him, either way, but if you want to be stubborn, I'm sure you can figure out how to make a good first impression on your own.  And, I mean, if you make him  _more_  scared instead of  _less_ , that's not really a failure of my liaisoning skills, is it?  Or maybe it is.  Never sure where the edges of the job are.  You know, the wolves don't think I'm nearly as much of a failure as everyone here does, which has actually been kind of nice.  But at least I'm used to people thinking I'm a screwup.  I can handle it."  
  
Eleanor glowered at her hair in the mirror, trying to convince herself that it was still wrong so that she could go on being mad at Stiles.  But it wasn't.  Hair-fixing wasn't a skill he'd picked up to impress her older sister.  It was just a skill he'd picked up being around the castle with its two princesses and no princes.  Stiles said he was a screw-up, but the truth was that he learned new things easily - he just couldn't always focus on learning the new things he was actually  _supposed_  to be learning.  
  
Stiles picked out a gold brooch with a blue stone in the center.  "Here.  This will match Isaac's eyes.  He may not be what you'd hoped for, but at least we can make you look good together for the ceremony.  Our alliance with the wolves is important.  With them already fighting a war, they need to know we still stand by them, even if we won't send troops to help them.  They need to know they're not sending us a pack member for nothing."  
  
Of course they wouldn't send troops to help them.  That wasn't part of the treaty.  The treaty said they would leave each other alone and not meddle in each other's affairs.  It said the crown wouldn't allow werewolf hunters into the kingdom and in return, the wolves would avoid killing people and would send bodyguards to each of the royal children, to be bound together as a symbol of the continued peace between them.  Fighting in the wolves' wars was no concern of theirs.  But Stiles was frowning like he thought it should be.  
  
"Would Isaac be in the war if he weren't coming here?" she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them.  "Not that I care," she added on the end.  
  
Stiles sighed, coming in front of her to pin the brooch on the front of her right shoulder.  "He's 14, El.  He has no business being in war.  But yes.  He would have, and probably sooner than they wanted.  They said no one under 18 would fight, and then no one under 16, but Cora was only 15 when they lost her.  Even if they'd tried to keep him out of it, he'd have gotten dragged in.  Doesn't mean he's not still scared of coming here.  It's just a different kind of scared."  
  
He poked her gently on the nose.  "But  _you_  didn't want me to tell you about him, so you'll just have to wait and see.  They'll be here soon, so I'd better go meet them.  Just - go easy on the kid.  He's leaving home and he hadn't been expecting it, and that's hard for everybody.  Even if they're at war."  
  
Then Stiles was gone, and Eleanor was left to think about what he'd said.  She knew the wolves were at war, and she knew it was bad, but she didn't spend much time thinking about it.  She bet Isaac thought about it a lot.  She hoped he didn't think she was silly for not thinking about it.  But then she reminded herself that she didn't care what he thought.  He was a  _boy_.  He wasn't  _supposed_  to be a boy.  She wished she could get him out of the war without having to put up with him forever.  But that wasn't how this worked.  After the ceremony today, she'd be his alpha until the day she died.  She sat on the edge of her bed and made more faces in the mirror.  
  
***  
  
Isaac had already said goodbye to most of the pack after Cora's funeral, and he wished he'd said goodbye to Derek there, too.  Derek was the lowest-ranking family member the pack thought they could send without offending the King and Queen, but he'd taken his sister's death hard and he didn't want to be here, running down the road toward the castle.  He'd been silent all day, even when they stopped, and Isaac couldn't help feeling guilty every time Derek glowered off into the distance like being here was somehow offensive to him.  Isaac didn't want to go, either.  He didn't want Cora to be dead.  He didn't want to be running off to the castle instead of avenging her.  He didn't want any of this.  
  
Boyd was silent too, but that was hardly new.  And he'd clapped Isaac on the shoulder more times than usual, and didn't scowl off into the distance when they stopped, like Derek did.  It didn't help the guilt much, but at least it was something.  Isaac knew the older boy had volunteered to come more because it meant seeing Erica again than because he wanted to support Isaac, but he was glad for the support anyway.  If you counted not seeming upset as support.  And Isaac would take what he could get.  
  
Scott was the only cheerful one, chattering during their stops about how it was going to be good knowing Isaac was safe and telling him that maybe he could find a way to help them from the castle.  Isaac knew that wasn't true.  If it was, Erica would have done it already.  But he couldn't say that to Scott.  Not when Scott was trying so hard to make him feel better about this whole thing.  Even while they were wolfed-out and running at full speed, Scott ran like it was a game, leaping ahead and then glancing back and falling behind, trying to turn it into a race like they were just out stretching their legs on an innocent hunt.  
  
As they drew close to the castle gate, an armored figure on a horse rode out toward them.  Even from a distance, Isaac recognized Stiles's horse with its light blue tack.  The leather had been dyed blue for Lydia's saddle, an extravagance fit for a princess and that she'd thought would look flashy against the white fur of her own horse.  It had been meant to be a deep indigo, though, and had come out as quite a light blue.  And when Lydia hadn't wanted it, it had somehow made its way to Stiles.  Isaac didn't really understand how.

In the few tournaments Stiles had participated in, the color extended into his horse's caparison, making the whole thing look intentional and expensive, but in day-to-day use, it was ridiculous, even from this distance.  They'd all laughed at it a little, but now that Isaac was about to be stuck here with the humans, it felt good to see something familiar.  
  
As the figure grew closer, the wolves slowed down and relaxed, letting their features shift back to human before they could frighten Stiles's horse again.  Stiles was good at staying on his horse even when he panicked, but it was only through long practice - horses and wolves didn't really get along, even when the wolves were werewolves.

Stiles swung down off his horse's back and pulled Scott into a hug.  Scott was the wolves' liaison to the humans, and the two were almost inseparable whenever Stiles was with the pack.  They'd known each other even before Scott was bitten, and when they'd been given the same position on each side of the treaty line, it had seemed like destiny for them to be friends forever.  
  
Stiles didn't stick with Scott for very long today, coming straight over to Isaac and slapping him on the back.  "Hey there, kid.  You doing ok?"  
  
Isaac sniffed.  "Fine."  He knew Stiles and Scott were comfortable talking about feelings, but he thought it was weird.  He hadn't been allowed to talk about his feelings growing up, and he wasn't sure he was comfortable with it now.  
  
Stiles laughed.  "'Course you are, tough wolf like you.  Never mind that Scott was terrified going off with the pack when he got bitten and I was terrified leaving home by myself the first time, even though I knew part of being liaison was getting to come back.  You're not at  _all_  scared of having to make a new home for yourself with a bunch of strangers."  
  
Isaac stood up straight, looking Stiles directly in the eye.  "I've done it before.  I'll do it again."  It was true.  He would.  And if he was a little scared, it wasn't because he was intimidated by new places.  It was just because when Derek led him away from his father and took him to Talia for the bite, he'd been sure things would get better, and because even though it was better, it hadn't lived up to the way he'd dreamed it would be.  It didn't pay to dream.  This wasn't going to be a good place, either.  There was no such thing.  
  
Stiles sighed.  "Yeah, I guess you have."  
  
Scott seemed to sense that things were getting too serious again, and ran over, half knocking Stiles over as he flung an arm around each of their necks.  Isaac held firm.  He was stronger than the human.  He was stronger than all of the humans, but that wasn't going to help him when he was bonded to one.  
  
"Why the gloomy faces, guys?  It's not a battle.  It's an alliance.  Alliances are good.  Let's just try and celebrate ours for a little bit."  Scott was relentlessly optimistic.  He could be realistic when faced directly with war - he often was - but the rest of the time, he was all optimism and reassurance.  It didn't always help.  
  
Isaac didn't want to go back to the human world.  He hadn't much liked it before, and he doubted that being bonded to some snotty princess was going to make him like it more.  He'd become a wolf on purpose, and if it hadn't lived up to its potential, at least it had been what he'd picked.  
  
"Yeah," he said weakly to the dark-haired 19-year-old draped across his shoulder, "An alliance.  For the good of the pack."  
  
That was what they'd told him.  He had to do this for the good of the pack.  And maybe it was even true.  It didn't mean he wanted to do it.  
  
Stiles reached around Scott to pat Isaac on the shoulder.  "Hey man, I know it doesn't do much for the war you're already fighting, but I couldn't prevent a second one without you.  The humans aren't crazy about the wolf war, and I'm still not sure they're crazy about you guys in general.  Not like I am."  
  
Isaac wasn't sure he believed that.  But he wasn't sure he  _didn't_  believe it, either.  He'd have to wait and see.  It made sense for the humans to start thinking they might want all the werewolves out of their territory, and if the older princess having Erica and the king having Peter Hale wasn't enough, maybe it  _did_  matter that Isaac was doing this.  He just wished he could matter a different way.


End file.
